


You Were My Best Mistake

by ProneToRelapse



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternative Universe - Human, Ambiguously Happy Ending, Angst, Cole Lives, Guilt, Infidelity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 03:07:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15452019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProneToRelapse/pseuds/ProneToRelapse
Summary: “I love you.” Hank needs it to be enough.“I know,” Connor says, even though it isn’t.





	You Were My Best Mistake

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes authors want to write people doing bad things. this is one of those times. this does not mean the author condones those things in anyway.

“Will it always be like this?”

“I don’t know how to give you anything else.”

Hank is... struggling. All his life he’s tried to do right by the people he loves and the people who love him. Ever since he was a kid he’s seen the world in black and white, good and bad. Now the world is dipping into a shade of grey Hank has never seen before, and he doesn’t know what to do. He’s wrestling so completely with what he knows is right and what he knows is wrong. But the overwhelming fact is that Hank  _doesn’t care._

Maybe if things were different, he’d care. Maybe if what he’s doing – though so intrinsically wrong - didn’t feel so right, it would be easier to stand up, to plant himself firmly, to say no. 

But he doesn’t have that strength. And maybe worse, he doesn’t want to. He knows he should. He absolutely knows he should.

But he can’t help how he feels.

Connor’s fingers scratch slowly through Hank’s beard where they lay, facing each other on their sides, completely naked in Hank’s bed. His caresses are slow, lazy, and Hank leans into the touch like a sleepy cat, eyes heavy-lidded. Connor looks ethereal like this, pale and slender, neck and chest littered with pretty lilac bruises and bite marks. His eyes are deep, oak brown and content, and Hank wants to give him the world.

“I don’t mind,” Connor murmurs, brushing the pads of his index and middle fingers over Hank’s lips. Hank presses a soft kiss to them just to see the little smile twist Connor’s lips in the low light. “Really, I don’t.”

“I do,” Hank says. “I wanna give you everything.”

The words, pretty as they are, are meaningless. Empty, hollow things, and Hank hates that Connor is pleased by them because he deserves so much more than Hank can give him. He deserves the world, not the half-formed mess of a broken life that Hank is trying to give him and pass off as complete.

“I’m happy when I’m with you,” Connor says. “However that is.”

Hank feels awful. For all the wrong reasons. He feels awful that he can’t commit to this wonderful man. That he can’t kiss him when he wants to, wherever he wants to. That they can’t hold hands or go out to dinner. He feels awful that Connor is his best-kept sordid secret, hidden away from the world and, most crucially, the eyes of Hank’s wife.

“I’d leave her for you,” Hank says. He’s not sure if it’s the truth, a lie, of a desperate wish.

“I know,” Connor says, just like he does every time Hank says it. “Maybe one day.”

Hank doesn’t want Connor hanging onto what-ifs and maybes. He wants Connor to be loved the way he deserves; open and carefree, unhindered by a failing marriage made ten years before Hank could meet the one person who matches him in every way.

This is his way of spiting the universe for making things happen in the wrong order. This is him righting the wrong of the shitty hand fate dealt him.

“Kiss me,” Connor says and Hank does without hesitation, surging forward to claim soft, pliant lips in a kiss that says more than he ever can out loud. And Connor understands because Connor is perfect. His mouth opens under Hank’s and the soft whisper of tongues gliding is the answer to all the things Hank wants to say but can’t.

Connor pulls away and rolls onto his front so Hank can fit himself against the graceful curve of his back, lips moving over the pale column of a throat already covered with the claiming marks of earlier desire. Hank can’t help himself. Every bite, every bruise, is another promise Hank can’t verbalise. So he speaks them directly to Connor’s body, hoping that’s enough to absolve him these sins.

Connor’s legs part gently, thighs still slick and glistening in the faint lamplight. It’s the most seductive invitation Hank has ever seen and he surrenders with a groan, burying his face in the damp hair at the nape of Connor’s neck, and his cock into the slick, welcoming heat of his ass. 

It’s slow this time, achingly slow. They have the whole weekend, right through till Monday when Andy brings Cole back from her mother’s. They’ll spend the whole of it together, lost in each other away from the world where, for a few precious hours they can pretend that this is their life, just the two of them. 

The desperation from their earlier coupling has faded, become this slow tender thing full of hopeless longing. Each of Hank’s thrusts is deep and lazy, Connor unravelling beneath him like a dropped spool of thread. His slender fingers clutch the sheets, pretty moans slicking the pillow under his head with saliva as he pants into the cotton. The cheek that Hank can see is dusted a rosy pink, eyelashes fluttering like feathered wings against the high cheekbone of his handsome face.

Hank is lost to it. Everything that Connor is makes him so weak. He never stood a chance.

With a moan that rings of a thousand confessions, Hank spills inside him once more, clutching him close and mouthing words into his hair that he cannot possibly hear but understands all the same. Connor whimpers, a high, sweet sound, and trembles with the pleasure of it. He tilts is head to steal a kiss from bitten lips.

“I love you.” Hank needs it to be enough. 

“I know,” Connor says, even though it isn’t.

The weekend passes and Hank’s heart can’t take the bittersweetness of it. Connor belongs in his arms, carefree and smiling. He doesn’t want to go back to the stolen moments of clumsy illicit fumbling whenever they can snatch a moment together. He wants this always. 

Hank hates himself more than he ever has for putting the sad smile on Connor’s face when he steps away at the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. Connor, ever the stronger man, is the one to put the respectable distance between them, to erect the walls of propriety and morality between them once more. Hank hates it. He hates it so much he burns with the force of it.

And then Andy and Cole are there and Hank has to be a loving husband again. The loving father never leaves him, never will, but what he has with Andy will never again be what it was when they were twenty-five and careless.

Andy kisses Hank in greeting, then gives Connor a gentle hug of long familiarity and Hank scoops Cole up into his arms to forget everything else except this boy who loves him and doesn’t know of his flaws. Cole babbles excitedly about their weekend and Hank listens while trying not to fall apart under the weight of his own sins.

The world was black and white once. Now this beautiful shade of grey is killing him.

They still snatch their precious moments, Hank and Connor, stealing minutes whenever they can. Connor goes to his knees for Hank in the precinct bathroom stalls and Hank fucks him desperately in the back of his car until the windows mist up and Connor is shaking from the pleasure of it. He goes home every night with sweat on his skin that doesn't belong to him and the taste of saliva on his tongue like a secret. Sometimes he wishes Andy would see the signs and confront him. He hates this limbo between asking her if she knows and hoping to god that she doesn’t.

He’s a coward.

His heart screams the confession of the lie with every beat, but only he can hear it. It’s his own silent torment; his cross to bear.

Every time he spills into Connor’s eager mouth he hates himself more. Every time he sinks into the heat of Connor’s willing body he despises everything he’s become. Even Connor’s soft words of love and adoration no longer chase the guilt away.

And yet Hank can’t stop himself. He’s addicted to the high that is Connor. 

So here they stand, facing each other across a gulf that Hank cannot hope to cross. Everything he wants in on the other side, but he’s not brave enough to jump, to take the leap of faith.

Until Andy does it for him.

Hank doesn’t deserve this second chance. He doesn’t deserve his sins to be rewarded by the tears in Andy’s eyes gazing into his from across the couch as she takes his hand and tells him in a small, trembling voice that she’s met someone and she thinks she’s fallen in love in a way she hasn’t loved Hank for a long time now.

“I need to tell you something,” Hank says, because if this is a gift, he wants to balance the scales once and for all. No more lies. No more guilt. “About Connor and I.”

Andy’s smile is gentle and possibly the most relieved thing Hank has ever seen.

   
   
“I want a divorce,” she says, and it’s almost sweeter than any proposal.

**Author's Note:**

> this author would 100% support Andy going after Hank's knees with a baseball bat if she were so inclined.


End file.
